Always In My Thoughts
by I Feel Possessed
Summary: **WINNER** of NCISLA Magazine Callen's Corner Challenge #4. Lives are placed in danger when an enemy returns to target Callen and the team. Set around Season 5 Episode 16 (no real spoilers if you haven't seen S5)
1. Chapter 1

"Turn away from us  
days are darker and the winters come  
can't remove yourself from what you have done  
on the rack where your reputation lies"

Recluse, Neil Finn [Dizzy Heights] 2014

* * *

"Do you two have a problem communicating?" Sam asked Callen as they strolled in to the bullpen shortly before 9.30am.

"What? You mean me and the little dummer boy over there?" Callen glanced at Deeks who was already seated at his desk, practicing drum rolls with two pencils.

"You talking about me?" Deeks asked, his face a picture of pure concentration as he attempted to drum faster and faster.

"I am," Callen replied. "But I have no idea who or what Sam's talking about. Personally, I think he's the one with the communication problems."

"No G," Sam rolled his eyes in frustration. "You just choose to play ignorant or dumb or whatever the hell it is you do."

"Ah, sounds like we're all going to have a great morning," Deeks commented as he abruptly stopped drumming and started using a single pencil to baton twirl through his fingers.

"I agree," Callen nodded his head, placing his bag on his desk and easing into his chair. "Did you get out of the wrong side of the bed again, big guy?"

Sam froze half way to seating himself and stared at Callen. For the tenth time that morning he wondered what he had done that was so bad he deserved a partner like Callen.

"Are you actually going to sit down or are you demonstrating how strong your thigh muscles are?" Callen opened the lid of his laptop and suppressed the smile that threatened to break through. Sometimes Sam just asked for it, figuratively speaking of course.

Sam sat down, slamming his palm on the desk, causing Deeks' pencil to spin to the floor. He stared at Callen before asking. "You do know I can kill someone using my legs? I can demonstrate on you now or later. It's your choice G."

Callen leaned back in his chair and folded his arms. "Strangely enough Sam, I have no desire to go anywhere near your legs – or any other part of your anatomy."

Deeks grabbed a rubber band and started pulling it through his fingers. "Y'know I'm so pleased to see that your 'bromance' hasn't died."

Sam turned to face Deeks. "I could always demonstrate on you as well..."

"Oooh no no no! I didn't mean _that_, what I meant was that I miss not having a partner to banter with." Deeks backtracked quickly, snapping the elastic band sharply on to his trigger finger.

Sam held his gaze on Deeks before slowly exhaling. He reached in to his jeans pocket and pulled out his cell. He unlocked the phone, tapped the message icon and turned the screen towards Callen.

"Joelle," he said expectantly.

"Hmm," Callen responded without looking up from his laptop. Recently this is all Sam wanted to talk about and while it was fun to wind Sam up, Callen really wanted his private life to stay that way.

"Why is she texting me and not you?" Sam pressed.

"I don't know," Callen said, his focus remaining on the laptop screen. "Maybe she wants to talk to you about me. Isn't that what you two normally do?"

"See what I mean Deeks?" Sam called for some moral support. "They have a problem communicating. It's been what, a month? I'm surprised you don't still need me to book your restaurants for you and then invite Joelle on your behalf."

"Ok," Callen gave up and closed his laptop. "You have my undivided attention."

"That'll be a first," Sam muttered just loudly enough for Callen to hear. "Joelle wants to know if you're a fan of Alexandre Dumas."

"Ha," Deeks laughed suddenly. "Do you think she's into role play? We know Kensi loves a little bit of dressing up... Maybe she wants you to wear an iron mask."

Sam broke into a smile as he considered Deeks' words for a moment. "He could be right you know. But maybe you want _her_ to wear the iron mask. It wasn't that long ago G, you admitted you would pay a dominatrix to hurt you."

Callen shot Sam a look that could have killed.

"What? No!" Deeks looked to Sam then back to Callen. "Where was I when this gem of information was leaked?"

"Thankfully, you weren't around," Callen answered. "Why would she want to know if I'm a fan of Alexandre Dumas?"

"Well it seems an anonymous package arrived at her door this morning, marked for her attention but with no return address."

"And?"

"And nothing. Did you order her a book?"

"Why would I do that?" Callen was genuinely puzzled.

"How about as a gift?" Sam shook his head slightly. He had seen Callen go undercover and turn on so much charm and charisma he practically had women eating out of his hands. But when it came to real life; his own life...

"What was the book?" Callen's attention was now fully on Sam and he smiled. He was sure there was some significance to Sam's frustration and about the author that he was failing to grasp. However the journey to his enlightenment was so far quite amusing.

"A dog-eared paperback version of The Count of Monte Cristo," Sam replied. "No expense spared, which sounds just like you."

The smug grin which had been present on Callen's face disappeared as he stared at Sam. "The Count of Monte Cristo? That was Joelle's parcel?"

"Yeah..." Sam noticed the immediate change in Callen and could feel the tension emanating from him. "Why? What does that mean?"

Callen stood abruptly, pulled out his cell and walked to the outside door for privacy as he dialled Joelle's number.

"G?" Sam called after him.

"What was that about?" Deeks asked Sam.

"I have no idea but he'd better fill me in the second he comes back..."

Several minutes later Callen returned to the bullpen. He hesitated slightly and Sam took advantage of Callen's apparent unease and indecision.

"So what's going on G?"

"Nothing's going on Sam. But I need to duck out for thirty minutes, so I'll catch up with you guys shortly." Callen glanced at Deeks and Sam, quickly noting their confusion as he turned away.

Before Callen had walked more than three paces Sam caught him by the arm, halting his hasty retreat.

"Where are you going?" Sam demanded. Deeks had also risen from his chair and stood at Sam's shoulder, presenting a united front against their team leader who was clearly on the verge of ditching them.

"I won't be long," Callen reasoned. "I'll be back before Hetty even knows I'm gone."

"Hetty knows everything, she's like the Eye of Providence," Deeks said. "The all-seeing eye of God."

"Why does this involve Joelle? And what's so special about the Count of Monte Cristo?" Sam persisted in his interrogation of Callen. He was not letting him out of his sight before finding out what was really going on.

"Indeed Mr Callen," the authoritative voice of Henrietta Lange broke through Sam's thoughts and he instinctively let go of Callen's arm. "What _is_ so special about The Count of Monte Cristo that means you have to return before I realise you ever disappeared?"

"Nothing Hetty, I just need to run an errand."

"For your erm, lady-friend?" Hetty peered up at him through her thick-rimmed glasses.

Callen looked at Sam who just shook his head.

"You really think I'm gonna come to your rescue? Have you done something to put Joelle in danger?" Sam raised his voice as he jumped to his own conclusions. "If anything happens to her-"

"It's Ok Sam, I just called Joelle and she is safely at work and is going round to a friend's after. I persuaded her to stay the night there so she won't be going home until tomorrow evening. She has no idea who delivered the book to her."

"Callen, what is so significant about the book?" Deeks asked curiously.

Callen took a deep breath. Hetty, Sam and Deeks were all looking at him expectantly. He wondered how he could word this without Sam wanting to knock him into next week for placing Joelle at risk. Even worse though, could be the reaction of Deeks. He may be hiding it well, but his PTSD from Siderov's torture was still at the forefront of his mind, Callen could tell, and it all linked back to Janvier's hatred of him. He rubbed his hand across the stubble on his chin, unable to delay the inevitable truth-telling any longer.

"When I locked Janvier in his cell, he asked whether I had ever read the Count of Monte Cristo. It's about a man who waited twenty one years to exact his revenge. He blames me for Vasseri cutting off his hand as I traded him for me. He told me that he only lives to kill what I love and I believe he will systematically take out anyone who is connected to me. And the last words I heard from him was that the game was not over." Callen slowly looked Hetty, Deeks and Sam in the eyes. "At best this could be a reminder that he's in control; at its worst, he's already started his campaign to destroy me."

"Mr Callen how do you know the book is from Janvier?" Hetty asked, despite the fact she readily acknowledged that coincidences rarely occurred in their line of work.

"Because written inside the cover were the words 'You are always in my thoughts, MJ'." Callen said.

"MJ – Marcel Janvier," Hetty confirmed Callen's worst thoughts. "I suggest gentlemen, that you all make your way up to Ops, where you can brief Nell and Eric on our new case."

* * *

Hetty escorted the team up to the ops centre causing Nell and Eric to turn round in surprise.

"Did I miss something?" Eric asked Hetty. "Do we have a new case?"

"Indeed we have Mr Beale, and Mr Callen will brief you and the team," Hetty looked pointedly at Callen, allowing him no room to manoeuvre out of his responsibilities.

Callen leaned back against the interactive table and retold his short story about Janvier's threats to him and those he cares about, and the significance of Dumas' The Count of Monte Cristo.

"He's out for revenge and if I'm lucky this is only a reminder not to forget about him," Callen summarised. "But he won't stop until he's killed those I'm close to. Revenge is all he lives for now."

"And since you don't have many people in your life, I guess that means we're all at risk," Sam said, circling his arm to encompass everyone in the room.

"You know that Sam, it's why Janvier betrayed you to Sidorov," Callen resisted from adding that Deeks had merely been collateral damage. Janvier hadn't been interested in Deeks. Deeks had been unlucky enough to have had Sam's back and his rescue attempt and subsequent capture and torture were purely attempts by Sidorov to establish Sam and Quinn as undercover agents.

"And Joelle," Sam added with a tight smile. "Does she count as one of your loved ones?"

Callen stared at Sam. "That doesn't really matter, what does it that Janvier thinks she does, which means she's in danger."

"OK, so Eric can you pull up all the CCTV footage around Joelle's house?" Nell said, keen to get the investigation going and to move on from the sly comments being passed between the two senior agents.

"Do you know who delivered the parcel, which courier?" Eric asked.

"No, not yet." Callen replied turning to his team. "Deeks you work with Nell and Eric, make sure that Janvier is still securely locked up. I want a log of all his visitors, his calls in and out, and profiles on all the prison guards and all the prisoners, the current ones and those who've been released since Janvier was incarcerated. There is a leak somewhere. Sam and I will head to Joelle's."

"On it. Let me know what you find, guys," Deeks called after them as they exited the room.

Hetty watched as her team separated to work on different areas of the case. She was worried. She was extremely worried about the reach of Janvier. He seemed to have an endless pool of information at his fingertips, and a never-ending list of underground lowlifes he could call on. Hetty was beginning to fear Janvier could discover details about Callen's past that was buried so deep the secrets were believed to have been lost forever. And not even she knew what they may be. All she knew was that there would only be one winner and she hoped to God it would be Callen.

* * *

To be continued...


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2

Sam pulled up outside Joelle's house and waited expectantly for Callen to pass comment. Instead Callen opened the car door before Sam could switch off the ignition. Sam pursed his lips and followed, thinking it was going to be a long day.

"You got a key?" he asked as Callen paused by the door.

"We've been seeing each other for a few weeks. Do you really think I have a key to her place?"

"Whoa, I was just asking! In that case do you know if she hides a key?"

Callen just looked at Sam. Did he really need to tell him that Joelle was not the kind of person to hide a door key under the mat? And her neighbourhood was way too suburban to make that assumption. Instead he pulled out his pick lock set and discretely started twisting the lock's levers until the mechanism tumbled into place and clicked open. He pushed the door and motioned Sam to follow.

"I can't believe you just broke into your girlfriend's house," Sam shook his head in disbelief. "Why didn't you just ask her to meet you here or borrow a set of keys?"

"This way is much quicker and cleaner," Callen explained, heading towards the dining table where he could see the brown paper packaging from Joelle's parcel.

"Yeah whatever," Sam muttered, glancing around the living room.

Two large sofas were positioned in one corner of the room covered with throws and scatter cushions. A large ornate bookcase filled one wall, packed with what appeared to be a combination of fiction and non-fiction paperbacks. Some heavy weight leather-bound books filled the bottom two shelves. A sleek modern fire adorned the back wall, with large stones and church candles strategically placed at either side and an expensive looking rug covered the oak flooring. To the far left was a rectangular dining table which was covered in the morning's post and a single coffee cup.

Sam grinned at Callen's back as his mentally compared Joelle's lovingly decorated home to Callen's barren house.

"Only one cup on the table?" Sam asked mischievously. "Play your cards right and you'll never have to furnish your house G. You can just move in here."

"Hmm," Callen replied without bothering to turn around. "Let's just do what we came here for."

Sam joined Callen at the table and the pair pulled on gloves to examine the packaging and book, which had been left on top of the paper.

"No post marks, label was printed and stuck on." Sam said, turning the thick paper over and scrutinising every inch. "Parcel was taped together, cut with scissors so no saliva to analyse."

"And I doubt we'll find any prints on the paper or anything useful on this," Callen said as he handled the book, carefully turning the pages.

It was a standard second hand paperback printed ten years ago. The edges were curled and the spine showed the book had been repeatedly read, probably by numerous people. That meant there would be a high number of fingerprints and DNA, and Callen doubted whether that could be whittled down to a single suspect. Janvier and whichever lowlife he had employed were far too clever. He pulled an evidence bag from his pocket and carefully placed the book inside, holding it open for Sam to add the paper.

"I'd love to see how you're gonna explain breaking and entering and stealing this to Joelle," Sam asked, taking off his gloves and pocketing them.

"You let me worry about that," Callen replied as the pair walked towards the door. "You just con-"

"Did you hear that?" Sam turned abruptly and glanced around, suddenly aware that they had not cleared any rooms when they had entered.

"And you call me paranoid," Callen replied quietly, signalling for Sam to start searching the rooms to his left.

Callen took out his gun and moved to his right, checking the narrow gaps behind the sofa and peaking through the windows to the back garden. Nothing. He quietly stepped into the kitchen, clearing the utility room before reaching the back door. He could hear Sam opening the second bedroom door and he waited a heartbeat, anticipating a shout or a gunshot. Still there was nothing. He gingerly reached out his right hand and slowly turned the door handle. It was unlocked.

"Sam," he called gently.

His partner appeared, gun held steadily in front of him, nodding to give Callen the go ahead.

With one swift movement Callen opened the back door wide and moved to the side, allowing Sam to step outside and to the right. Callen quickly followed and took the left side, sweeping their sight and guns round the garden. Again, there was nothing. The garden was clear and both agents lowered their weapons.

"Are you sure you're not paranoid?" Callen asked with a grin.

Sam took one last look around him. He knew he had heard a sound and the backdoor had been found unlocked. Sam was convinced they were related. He squinted into the morning sunlight and caught sight of a black barrel pointed in Callen's direction.

"Get down," Sam shouted.

He dived to his left and tackled Callen to the ground, hearing a whizzing sound as a bullet passed close by his ear. He lay on top of Callen, forcing the younger man's head to the grass as Callen struggled in vain to get up. He remained there for several more seconds until he was sure the danger had passed. Callen moved his arms and with all his strength attempted to roll Sam off his back.

"Will...get...off..." Callen struggled to catch his breath. Sam's dive had winded him and his weight was driving the air from his lungs which he was unable to replenish.

Sam pushed himself up, "You're welcome," he said as he offered Callen his hand, which was gladly taken.

A quick glance told Sam that Callen was fine, and he sprinted to the back fence, pulling himself up to catch sight of the shooter. The scene beyond was devoid of any one; he had the perfect view in to all the neighbouring gardens but there was not one single movement to catch his eye. He held himself up on the fence a short while longer before dropping back down to the grass and walking back to Callen.

"How about next time someone tries to kill me, you don't follow it through by trying to suffocate me." Callen said as he stood and watched Sam walk back to him. He was slightly bent forward and was moving his hands to his rib cage.

"How about next time I let someone kill you, rather than trying to save your ungrateful ass?" Sam looked about him as he worked out where the bullet might have landed.

"I think you've broken something," Callen tenderly touched the left side of his chest and inhaled deeply. "Ah, there..."

Sam stopped and looked at Callen. "Really? Next time I'll make sure there's a soft mattress for you to land on."

"No," Callen replied and stopped prodding his side. "I'm good, maybe a little bruised. You found that shell casing yet?"

"Hmm, from the trajectory I reckon it must have landed about here." Sam pointed to the brick wall beside the door. "What the-?"

Embedded into the drain pipe adjacent to the brickwork was a small dart. Reaching for one of the gloves he used earlier he carefully eased it out and held it for Callen to examine.

"You've gotta be kidding me," Callen said, shaking his head and scanning the horizon. "A dart that is what, laced with poison or tranquilizer? What, does someone think they're in a Bond film or something?"

"I don't know but I think we've overstayed our welcome. You need to have a serious chat with Joelle as I am _not_ letting her come back home until this is over." The tone of Sam's voice left no doubt as to the consequences if Callen did not comply.

Callen rubbed his hands over his face and met Sam's stare. He knew he had to talk to Joelle and feed her some more little white lies as to why she couldn't return home for at least another few days. He wasn't ready to tell her the truth about the threat; that a psychopath was hell bent on revenge because he was really an undercover Federal agent, and because of him, her life was now in danger. Hell, he wasn't sure he would ever be ready to reveal his secrets to anyone, but they were thoughts and decisions for another day – a day that would probably never arrive.

"I know Sam," Callen opened the door and walked back into Joelle's house with Sam following. "I know."

* * *

An hour later the team reconvened in the ops centre. Deeks had been able to confirm that Janvier was still securely in lockdown for twenty three hours a day and had little interaction with either prison guards or prisoners. He had received no visitors or packages and the only calls he had made or received were to and from his daughter.

"Nell has confirmed that the calls originated from Paris and Adeline Janvier is still there; she hasn't left the country. There have been two calls out and three calls in between the two and all were recorded." Deeks advised.

"I haven't been able to verify what was communicated verbally during the calls, I'm still waiting for the audio files to be sent to us," Nell advised. "But I am in receipt of the transcripts."

Nell opened a file and sent the document to the large screen in front of them. The calls were no longer than three minutes in duration and the words consisted of the generic prison-visitor conversations of:

'How are you?' [Adeline]

'I am well, you? [Janvier]

'How are you being treated? [Adeline]

'Fairly enough, how are your studies? [Janvier]

The short question and answer session between father and daughter continued in a similar vein. Half way through they slipped in to French; a translation had already been provided by the prison and there were no surprises.

"There is nothing here that suggests Janvier has passed coded messages on to his daughter," Nell summarised. "Maybe when we hear the audio files it will give us a different interpretation."

"Maybe," Callen responded, "What about guards, prisoners..."

"We looked through those," Eric swiped two more documents on to the large screen. "The prisoners are on the left. Janvier has only interacted with two of them; a Mexican named Jose Sanchez who is in for five counts of murder, all drug related. Sanchez has a wide network of contacts both inside and on the outside. We're currently compiling a list of his known associates and cross referencing them with Janvier, police records and where they are now."

"The other guy is an American low-life called Bobby Skinner, a forty five year old lifer. Again he has a number of contacts on the outside and we're looking into his known associates." Nell continued. "I've also been looking at the three prisoners who have been released in the last six months and one former prison officer. So far there is nothing to connect them to Janvier or you."

"Keep digging Nell," Callen said. "There will be a link somewhere; we need to keep looking until we find it. Janvier has connections at all levels. Eric, any luck with camera footage?"

"I've scoured all the home security cameras surrounding Joelle's house and come up with this," Eric spun around his chair and loudly smacked a button which brought up scratchy film footage of a man on a bike pulling up outside Joelle's house.

The team watched as the rider reached into his leather jacket and retrieved a small brown parcel. He walked up to the door and pushed it part way through the letter box. Seconds later he returned to his bike and drove off.

"As you can see he kept his helmet on the entire time, is dressed entirely in black leathers and has removed the plates from his bike. What I have found is that he is riding a 2010 Yamaha, and he continued north until he reached this shopping mall car park, where we lose him in a blind spot."

"Have you tracked his movements prior to arriving at Joelle's?" Sam asked.

"We have indeed," Eric replied. "He originated from the same shopping mall car park. There are hundreds of people going in and out-"

"Keep looking," Callen ordered. "Send that shopping mall address to our cells, Sam and I will check it out. Deeks, help Nell look through the prison guards and tracking Sanchez & Skinner's associates. Call in any LAPD favours you can to track them through to LA."

"On it," Deeks responded.

"Eric can you also check home security cameras and traffic cams for any lead on the shooter this morning."

"Er, what shooter?" he asked warily.

"Some joker decided to take a pot shot at Callen with a dart." Sam elaborated. "The techies down below are analysing the dart and sending it off to the lab. Presumably it was laced with some chemical or drug."

"Are you OK?" Deeks asked Callen.

Callen rubbed his ribs which were still slightly sore from where Sam had landed on top of him. "Yeah, if you call having two tonnes of muscle land on top of you and then refuse to move, OK."

"I told you the bromance was going strong," Deeks winked at Sam and quickly wiped the smile from his face as Sam took a threatening step towards him.

"So we can gather the book was just to entice you to the property Callen," Nell thought out loud.

"Yeah, so some joker can use you as target practice," Sam added.

"Does that mean that Joelle is safe? I mean if they wanted to injure or kill her, they've had ample opportunity," Nell continued.

"No," Callen offered. "Janvier is playing games again. He might be playing the long game but there is nothing to suggest that Joelle or any of you are safe. I have a feeling that dart will be laced with nothing. It's the psychological power that Janvier wants over me. To always be looking over my shoulder. But sooner or later there will be bodies, until slowly but surely he has destroyed everyone around me. And then there will just be him and me. Only one of us will walk away from this alive."

The team stood in silence for several minutes as they digested the seriousness and the implications of Callen's words. As long as they were associated with Callen, their lives were at risk.

* * *

A/N - Thanks to everyone for the reviews so far! To Skippy1967 - thanks for your review of ch 1 - there is loads of Callen to come!

And a reminder that this is for the NCISLA Magazine Callen's Corner Challenge #4 which means there is a prize for the best reviewer as well as story. So please review my story AND all the other entries...


	3. Chapter 3

The shopping mall had proven to be a waste of over three hours of Sam and Callen's precious time. The multi-story car park could house up to three thousand cars and two hundred motorbikes. On that particular day it was three quarters full and the CCTV cameras were out of order; they had been for three days. Sam and Callen had manually scoured the ten floors and found forty bikes that matched the year, manufacturer and colour of the one seen at Joelle's house. Each bike had a licence plate though and all the details were passed to Eric to cross refer with the owner.

"Well that was fun," Callen said sarcastically as he climbed into the Challenger.

"Yeah, more leads to follow up once Eric has completed his checks," Sam replied.

He started the engine and drove out of the car park and onto the busy street. The two sat in silence for a while; Callen stared out of the passenger window while Sam concentrated on the rush-hour traffic.

"So what are you going to tell Joelle?" Sam asked directly.

"I have no idea," Callen replied honestly, continuing to gaze out of the window.

"Do you really believe Janvier knows all about her?"

"Yes Sam I do," Callen turned to face his partner. "Janvier told me he knows where I live, where I work and who I care about. He will keep his word and destroy everything around me until he can kill me."

"He's already failed to kill me," Sam replied to keep a positive perspective.

"But you're a SEAL and a trained NCIS Agent. Joelle is a kindergarten teacher. Nell is an Analyst with basic field training and Eric is a Tech Operator who hates guns unless it's a video game. Deeks has already been targeted by proxy and he's still suffering."

"Deeks is OK. He's come through OK," Sam repeated as though to reassure himself.

"Deeks is not OK, even less so now Kensi's gone," Callen's pessimism prevailed. "He's being Deeks, covering his pain with jokes. I'll bet you anything he still has nightmares."

"Is that why you don't sleep?" Sam asked with a quick glance at his partner.

Callen pursed his lips and remained silent. His insomnia was due to a variety of reasons; although most of them probably stemmed from one type of emotional and physical trauma or another.

"Let's see if the Wonder Twins have found anything further," Callen removed his cell from his jacket pocket and dialled Ops.

Five minutes later and the two agents were shaking their heads in despair. The multitude of leads from the car park had evaporated. Every single bike and owner had been accounted for and each had a watertight alibi. Whittling down and tracing the known associates from Janvier's fellow inmates Skinner and Sanchez was proving a time-consuming and frustrating activity, with little luck so far. And CCTV footage of Callen's would-be shooter had returned zero results. It was as though the shooter had disappeared in to thin air. LAPD had been drafted in to conduct searches of the neighbouring homes and gardens. But again, the results had been negative.

A further ten minutes sitting in the late afternoon traffic saw the pair receive a dismissive phone call from Hetty. Nell and Eric were staying on for another hour, but she advised Sam and Callen to go home, get some rest and return to the mission at 06:00 hours the next day.

"You gonna call Joelle?" Sam asked as he pulled up outside Callen's house.

Callen sighed thinking Sam was more concerned about his what...girlfriend? Lover? Female friend?...than he was about what this was doing to Callen himself. He thought that Sam of all people would be a little more tuned in to him.

Instead of replying, Callen invited Sam in for a beer. It was an offer that Sam rejected instantly, citing a need to get home as his daughter had a dance show. Failure to attend would incur the wrath of Michelle, which was not a risk he was willing to take. Callen had nodded his head in silent understanding – at least that was the lie his eyes told. Inside he wanted to scream that he needed company, advice, someone to joke with and annoy; anything to avoid thinking about the day, about Janvier and about Joelle. He might enjoy his own company but right now he felt very much alone.

Sam revved the Challenger's engine and waved a hand in Callen's direction as he drove away. Callen responded in kind, holding his hand up to say 'see you later'. He unlocked his front door and walked to the solitary chair in the living room, easing himself down and resting his head back. He stared at the ceiling, quickly lost in thought.

The 'it's not you it's me,' 'my work is stopping me from committing to us,' and the 'I'm sorry but this was only a bit of fun, I enjoy my freedom' lines were running through Callen's mind. It would be easier all round if he just ended his relationship with Joelle; there'd be less long term heart ache for both of them.

He'd broken up with women before without too much of an issue but this was different. He actually enjoyed Joelle's company; she was smart, funny, attractive and sexy – but most importantly there was no pressure from her to commit to anything more than they currently had; whatever that may be. Sure, they'd gone out to dinner, spent a few evenings together – even a few nights – but they were relaxed and casual. Joelle enjoyed being single as much as he did which made lying to her about why he was breaking off their 'non-relationship' even more difficult.

In addition to the words, he considered the methods. Text; no chance, Sam would carry out his threat to demonstrate how to murder him using his exceptionally strong legs. The same went for email. That left calling her, which was easier than a face to face explanation. Damn, Callen thought, the only real option he had was to see her, look her in the eyes and lie. Break any and all attachments. Give Janvier no reason to target anyone that wasn't an agent. At least his team had a chance to protect themselves - Joelle or any woman he became involved with was an innocent. Callen again seriously doubted that he was destined to ever settle down and have a family.

Keeping people at arm's length kept them safe and protected him from being hurt. It was his mantra and it had served him well for most of his life. Those that had crept under his radar had only caused him pain. Tracey Keller was the prime example, and five years later Kirstin Donnelly had completed him, in his most comfortable undercover role yet. He had readily admitted to himself that he'd been the one to cause her pain but he had suffered as well. He regretted the web of deceit he had spun and had so desperately wished her son was his. It had taken all his courage just to ask her who the father was and the answer had been like a kick in the guts. No, Callen thought, he was never meant to have a family. His whole upbringing and career screamed that to him. Callen closed his eyes and sighed loudly. Decision made, he opened his eyes and stood up. Grabbing his cell he speed-dialled Joelle to arrange his final date with her.

* * *

The next morning Sam arrived early to hit the gym and work out a few of the creases he'd acquired from an awkward night's sleep. He climbed the stairs and came to a halt as he saw Callen asleep on the bench press. Sam approached quietly and stood in front of him. Even in his sleep Callen looked troubled. This latest psychological battle with Janvier was tiring him out. Hell it was tiring them all out. Sam went to move to the lockers when he heard a clinking noise. His foot connected with several beer bottles which had been carefully placed by the legs of the bench press. Callen opened his eyes a slither and remained horizontal.

"Will you be quiet, I'm trying to get some shut eye," he said through the fog of sleep.

"Looks more like you're sleeping off a hangover," Sam retorted. "What's wrong with sleeping on your own floor or in Joelle's bed?"

Callen quickly moved into a sitting position, the sudden motion causing his head to spin a little. He carefully placed his head in his hands. He'd had more than the few beers the remaining bottles suggested and he exhaled slowly to steady himself.

"Just leave it Sam," he said quietly, easing himself gently in to a standing position opposite his partner.

"Kicked you out did she?" Sam had a smile on his face although he was concerned about the state in which he had found Callen and he looked at him in curiosity. Something had happened, but he hadn't heard from either Michelle or Joelle that there was trouble in paradise.

"I said leave it," Callen raised his voice and took a pace forward, squaring up to Sam.

The two stood face to face in silence before Sam looked away, giving Callen the opportunity to turn his back on his partner and walk towards the showers. Sam watched Callen walk away; his shoulders hung low and his gait was slightly unsteady. He had seen Callen block him out before and it was always for personal reasons. He pulled out his cell and sent a quick text to Michelle. From Callen's reaction to his light-hearted question about Joelle, he would lay money that she was the reason he'd drank himself to sleep in the gym. Sam bent down and picked up the empty bottles, quietly placing them in the trash before Hetty found them. He grabbed a can of deodorant from his bag and sprayed it liberally to mask the lingering smell of stale alcohol before reluctantly starting his work out.

Forty minutes later the team were gathered in the ops centre, summarising the activities and results of the previous day's investigations. The chemical analysis on the dart which had been shot at Callen revealed nothing. The dart had not been dipped in any poison or laced with any drugs. Video footage, audio clips from Janvier's calls and lists of Sanchez & Skinner's associates were swept onto the main screen. Short lists were made and addresses sent to Sam and Callen's smart phones. Nell and Deeks were also paired for the day to ensure more suspects could be targeted. Before the pairs embarked on day two of the case, the safety of the immediate team had to be comprehensively reviewed, and Hetty had requested Eric monitor the location of Joelle.

At the mention of her name, Sam gave a sly glance in Callen's direction. The younger man continued to concentrate on the screen in front of him and Sam noticed that all traces of his earlier hangover had disappeared. His eyes were now a bright vibrant blue in the artificial light of the operations centre. He seemed alert and keen to get out on to the streets of LA. The only difference in his behaviour was the lack of eye contact between them.

Without looking at his friends and colleagues, Callen commented that Joelle had planned to take a week long break and would be heading north to San Francisco to stay with her mother. Her cell phone's GPS locater placed her at LAX and a check on the internal flight manifests had her on the midday flight.

* * *

Sam and Callen had two suspects on their list for the morning. They were both connected to Janvier's fellow inmate Bobby Skinner, and lived within a five mile radius of Compton. The drive in the early morning sun should have been relaxing, but both men felt the tension between them.

"So what's going on G?" Sam stopped at a red light and turned to face Callen.

"Nothing's going on," Callen responded, meeting Sam's stare.

"No, if nothing was going on I wouldn't have found you sleeping off last night's alcohol in the gym,"

"It was a tough day, that was all," Callen shrugged.

"We've had tougher," Sam persisted.

"I had a few beers and realised I wouldn't be safe to drive home,"

"But I left you at home yesterday evening. Where did you go?"

"I went out for some food and thought I'd go back to ops and work the case some more," Callen was being somewhat economical with the truth but it sounded plausible.

"Huh," Sam replied. He was not convinced that Callen was telling the truth. Michelle had not managed to get hold of Joelle and Sam only had his gut instinct to go on. Well that and the fact he knew damn well when his partner was holding out on him.

The lights changed and Sam pulled away in to the increasingly heavy rush hour traffic. They rolled along at a snail's pace in silence for several minutes. Sam glanced across at Callen again, who was scrolling through his cell. They weren't going anywhere so he finally gave in.

"Ok, what happened last night with Joelle," Sam asked directly.

Callen looked up suddenly, for a split second his eyes widened and his mouth dropped open slightly. Bingo, Sam thought. He'd hit the nail on the head and Callen had briefly looked like a rabbit caught in the headlights, before he schooled his face into an impassive expression.

"Nothing happened,"

"You'd better tell me now. I'll only find out later, you _know_ that G,"

Callen was not going to have this conversation with Sam. He knew Sam would soon find out he ditched Joelle but at least she was on her way to safety. After driving round the streets for several hours the previous night Callen had eventually returned to ops and reviewed Janvier's connections. One name had stood out; Skinner's associate Clint Patterson. Callen had come across him several times in his past life, once in his late teens and again about twelve years ago. The case was becoming more and more personal but there was nothing official that connected Callen and Patterson, however it risked past secrets being revealed...

Turning his thoughts back to his current predicament, Callen considered his options with Sam; ignore, lie or ditch him. Ignoring Sam would be problematic as they had two suspects to find and interrogate. Lying? Well Sam usually saw straight through Callen's lie. Callen closed his eyes for a second. Ditching Sam was the only option to save him from facing the truth and maybe save the lives of his team.

"Look Sam, there's a diner about a mile along. Can we stop there and grab a bite? I'm feeling a bit..." Callen felt a little guilty as he played on the nurturing side of Sam's character. "...I just need something to line my stomach."

Sam looked over at Callen, who admittedly seemed rather pale. Maybe this was the first step in encouraging him to open up. "Sure G," He responded, hoping that a bit of breakfast would sort his partner out. Much though he loved Callen like a brother, if he threw up in his precious Challenger, Sam would rip his head off in an instance.

A mile down the road a strip of shops materialised on the right; an old fifties style diner took residence at the far corner. The light blue paint was flaking and the windows needed a scrub; perfectly in keeping with the unkempt look of the neighbouring properties. The pair walked in and quickly occupied a corner booth, giving them equal coverage of the front entrance and rear exit to the restrooms. Their positioning was more from force of habit than from any sense of risk; they were the only two patrons at a time when the diner should have been heaving.

Sam ordered two coffees from the waitress and leaned back on to the thin plastic covered cushion.

"You really know where all the classiest joints are,"

"Years of exploring the city," Callen retorted. He pulled out his cell and started fiddling with it, twisting it round and round in his hands.

"G, stop that. You're getting just the same as Deeks, unable to sit still without playing with something,"

"I am nothing like Deeks," Callen said indignantly.

"Yeah, come to think of it, he's mad, you're just plain crazy," Sam smiled affectionately, believing he had correctly summarised the personalities of his two male teammates.

Callen raised his eyebrows but remained silent. He deliberately placed his phone in front of him and refrained from drumming his fingers on the table.

"I need the restroom," Callen stood and walked to the back of the diner. Looking over his shoulder he raised his voice. "Can you order me some eggs and bacon?"

Sam's smile widened and he shook his head. If his errant partner didn't end up dying in the line of duty, his heart and arteries would just give up with the amount of junk food he consumed.

Five minutes later and Sam found himself drumming his fingers on the edge of the table. A little drum beat to accompany the tune that was running through his head. He again looked towards the restrooms and a frown creased his brow. Maybe G was sicker than he was letting on, Sam thought. He signalled to the waitress to wait as he went to see what was keeping him. The door at the rear opened into a small foyer with male and female restrooms to the right. Sam entered the men's and knocked on the single cubicle which was shut.

"G, you OK?" Sam knocked several more times and a sinking feeling came over him. The outcome was going to be bad whichever way, he thought. Either Callen had collapsed or he had given him the slip. Sam placed his shoulder against the door and leaned away before moving forward with all his weight. The lock easily gave way and the door swung open to reveal an empty cubicle. Sam quickly moved back to the foyer and tried the handle that led to the diner's back yard. The unlocked door opened on to an expanse of concrete that housed several parked vehicles. An alley way led to the backstreets beyond and Sam stood in the doorway, his hands on his hips. If they were lucky Callen may have been caught on camera exiting the diner but after that...

He returned to the table and grabbed Callen's smart phone, mad at himself for not having read the signs. He peeled off a few bills to cover the coffee and left the diner. Callen was off the grid and once again he was left to deliver the bad news to Hetty.

* * *

**A/N** - thank you all for your reviews and comments so far, they are all appreciated. Remember there's a prize for reviewing as well as writing, so please continue to review & comment on my story **_AND_** all the other entries, thanks.

And yes, there is more Callen to come, no romance & some action! But I doubt this will be before the weekend...


	4. Chapter 4

Callen stuck to alley ways and back streets, avoiding cameras on the sides of buildings and the tops of traffic lights. He knew Sam would be mad; Hetty would be disappointed – again. But this was _his_ problem; Callen versus Janvier. Trouble was that he had to protect his friends, as well as fight Janvier and the low-life's he was employing from his jail cell. It was a game with unknown rules which put everyone at risk.

Callen paused by a large dumpster and caught the eye of a homeless man who was clutching a bottle of cheap whisky. The elderly man pulled the bottle in to his body and fumbled with unsteady hands to wrap his threadbare coat around it. Maintaining eye contact the tramp pushed himself closer to the dirty wall behind him. The man was clearly scared of Callen. Since he was convinced he didn't look like an alcoholic, Callen was satisfied that his appearance and demeanour was throwing off some lethal vibes. Good, he thought, that meant when he confronted Patterson he would already have the upper hand. Pumped up and raring to go. Callen wryly hoped that Patterson would not be pumped up, unlike their last encounter.

He continued moving, pausing only once to check the name of the side street he had just crossed. Callen estimated the time at around eight and glimpses inside the auto shops he passed had cars lined up ready for the day's business. He carefully approached a rundown unit with rusty bars over the windows and an old broken padlock on the rotting wooden door. He gingerly reached out and tugged at the door. It opened with little resistance and not a sound from the hinges. Callen unholstered his gun and stepped inside, taking a moment to allow his eyes to acclimatise to the dingy interior.

Shafts of light illuminated the large room, showing it had been stripped bare many years ago. Against the far corner was a heap of blankets and clothes, most likely covering Patterson, Callen thought, tightening the grip on his gun. He continued to survey the room, looking for any company that Patterson may have but he could see no-one. He walked quickly to the dirty bed, ripped the covers back and trained his gun on Clint Patterson.

"Get up and put your hands where I can see them," Callen ordered.

Clint Patterson uncurled himself and raised his head to stare at his captor. Recognition flashed across his face and he smiled, revealing yellowed and chipped teeth.

"G. Callen," Clint said, apprising the man in front of him and ignoring the fact a loaded weapon was pointed at his head. "Still battling for truth, justice and the American way or have you finally succumbed to the dark side?"

"Show me your hands," Callen spoke slowly, emphasizing each word.

"What? No 'Federal Agent'? They kick you out? Finally saw you for what you are?" Patterson spat at Callen's feet.

"Place you hands on your head now," Callen had no respect for the man in front of him and so repeated his order. "And yes I am a Federal Agent," he added as an afterthought.

Patterson raised his hands and slowly stood. He had control of the situation. He had always had control of the situation when it came to G. Callen; well nearly always.

"Well looky at you," Patterson studied Callen. "Don't know if I should hug you or hit you?"

Callen's gun remained steady. Patterson had changed in the twelve or so years since their last encounter. They may have both been the same age but anyone looking at Patterson would have placed him at least ten years older. His long hair was completely grey; it was greasy and thinning, scraped back into a low pony tail. He had lost weight. His face was gaunt with dark circles under eyes that seemed unnaturally bright. Patterson unconsciously tugged at the belt of his jeans that were resting on his hips. A large dirty sweat shirt hung off his once muscular shoulders.

"How about you just stay where you are for the moment," Callen replied.

"That's no way to treat an old friend," the sardonic smile returned to Patterson's face as he continued in his efforts to undermine Callen's.

"Friends don't get friends beaten half to death," Callen could still vividly recall the events from twenty six years ago, when they were both eighteen. What he couldn't remember was what happened between losing consciousness and waking up two days later in hospital.

"You have a point," Patterson admitted. "And friends don't betray the other to the cops. You cost me eight years of my life."

"And it looks like you've really made up for lost time," Callen's voice dripped with sarcasm.

"Oh I have G, no fears on that score," Patterson broke eye contact with Callen and looked to the door through which Callen had entered. "Now!"

Callen spun round, his finger on the trigger, ready to assess the threat in a split second. Before he could complete the one hundred and eighty degree turn he was briefly aware of two darts penetrating his skin as an intense pain ripped through his body and he collapsed, his muscles convulsing uncontrollably.

Patterson took several paces forward. "Nice timing, Sista,"

The woman who had crept into the warehouse lowered her Taser after holding the trigger for a further five seconds. "Shit man, you said he was a dirty cop. I don't see no uniform,"

"He's a dangerous Fed. Fifty thousand volts is not enough for the crap he's capable of." Patterson kicked the unconscious agent and bent down to search his pockets. He pulled out Callen's NCIS badge and threw it to the woman.

"NCIS Special Agent G Callen" the woman read aloud. "What's the G stand for? Who is he?"

"Reckons he don't know the answer to either," Patterson had now found the zip ties and forcefully grabbed Callen's wrists and tied them tightly behind his back. He removed the darts from Callen's prone body and looked up. "You better disappear."

"With pleasure man, that's my debt paid y'hear?"

Patterson rolled Callen over with his foot, resting it on his chest with a little more pressure than necessary. "Sure babe, til the next time I need you..."

"Screw you," the woman looked at Patterson in disgust, raised her middle finger to him and exited the building as quietly as she had entered.

"You wish," Patterson shouted, turning his attention to Callen. He knew the immediate effects of being Tasered would wear off after about fifteen minutes and he rolled his sleeves, revealing sinewy muscles that had previously been hidden by his clothes. "Let's get you moved before you recover."

* * *

Although he regained consciousness fairly quickly, it was a further ten minutes until Callen began recover control of his muscles and process what had happened. The intense pain and shock clearly confirmed he had been shot with a Taser gun. He still felt weak and exhausted, and knew he would continue to feel that way for a number of hours yet. Callen feebly attempted to flex his arms to test the strength of the ties around his wrists, instead only causing the plastic to cut deeper into him. His legs were tied together with rope and a piece of dirty rag had been tied across his mouth. Callen could taste dirt and oil, mixed with blood; presumably his. He was relieved that he was not blindfolded and he lifted his head to study his surroundings. He was clearly no longer in the old warehouse where he had been attacked but in the back of a static van without windows. There was no engine noise; no sound at all. He guessed the van was probably parked inside another warehouse or garage.

Callen attempted to roll from his stomach to his back. A sharp pain from his midriff caused him to inhale sharply. Patterson must have given him a few hefty kicks when he was down, Callen thought, surprised that was the only real pain he could feel. Patterson had never been known for his light touch and the lack of damage felt by Callen confirmed to him that there was a larger hand at play controlling Patterson's actions. Callen had unwittingly walked straight into a trap which had very cleverly been laid by Janvier, Skinner and Patterson. While his team had been searching for connections spiralling out from Janvier and Skinner, Callen had looked at the names of Skinner's associates and found the one linked to him; an association that no-one else would make. And no one else was looking for connections between him and the low-lifes further down the chain. Callen mentally kicked himself for deliberately withholding this information from his team. There was nothing he could do to escape and currently little hope that anyone would rescue him. He would have to play the waiting game and hope that Patterson would slip up, allowing him the opportunity to escape.

The slamming of a van door and the simultaneous noise of the engine starting jolted Callen out of his reverie. The smell of diesel quickly permeated the back of the van and he struggled to breathe through his nose without feeling nauseous. He closed his eyes for a minute to regain control of his senses.

The tone of the engine changed as the van started moving from an enclosed space to the exterior. Callen guessed that several hours must have passed since the attack as the warmth of the sun was rapidly heating the rear of the van. Within minutes he was sweating. Still clad in his long sleeved T-shirt and jacket from earlier, he briefly thought this was an extreme way to lose weight. On a serious note, he hoped the journey would not take too long as prolonged exposure to this heat would soon see him dehydrate. Worse still, he could just bake to death, just like dogs left in cars during hot summer days.

For the next twenty minutes the journey had been stop-start, indicating the van was getting caught in traffic. The noise of pneumatic drills confirmed they had encountered road works, and the vibrations had rocked the back of the van until Callen thought his head would explode. He tried to concentrate on the area where he'd found Patterson and the surrounding location. He recalled there were extensive road works on West Compton Boulevard which headed towards Gardena. Before Gardena, Patterson – Callen had to assume he was driving – could turn and head south out of the city, continue west towards the coast or north and maybe head to LAX. The possibilities in theory were endless and Callen tried to focus on the turns being taken. Without windows it was difficult to guess the position of the sun. What he did know was that the humidity inside the van was increasing. His breathing was stifled from the gag and the heat, and his clothes were now soaked with sweat. Callen closed his eyes again and concentrated his thoughts by silently practicing his Russian.

* * *

A cool breeze swept through the van's interior. Callen opened his eyes and raised his head slightly. The rear doors were open and the scenery beyond was of yet another garage's interior. Spoiling his view was Patterson, holding Callen's own gun on him.

"Move," barked Patterson.

Callen stared at him. He was tied and gagged, held in an unventilated van for God knows how long and of course had been Tasered; Callen wondered with what super powers Patterson expected him to be able to move.

"Now!" Patterson ordered, waving the gun in an arc.

Callen reasoned with himself that if Patterson was going to kill him, he would be dead already. But the glint in his captor's eyes made him cautious. He _knew_ Patterson. Patterson had a tendency towards violence. Callen also knew that if he was going to have any chance of escape he had to avoid Patterson giving him the same beating he had received many years earlier. Mustering all the strength he could, Callen wormed his way to the edge of the van, resisting the temptation to swing his legs and give Patterson a vicious kick to the groin.

"Sit up,"

Callen followed the instructions, experiencing a head rush that nearly had him passing out. Patterson saw the colour drain from Callen's face and smiled with pleasure.

"Now stand up,"

Callen managed to stop himself from swaying long enough to realise that he did not currently have much strength to stand. In a few minutes time he would be fine, but now? Patterson seemed to be moving in to the arena of psychological game play. Janvier's reach was proving to be long, Callen thought bitterly. If he stood up, he may well fall straight back down and the humiliation would be complete.

Instead he stared at Patterson; his icy blue eyes piercing Patterson's soul. Callen met his challenge head on and slowly eased himself out of the van and onto his feet. He managed to remain upright for about ten seconds before Patterson hooked his foot round the back of Callen's left knee, causing it to buckle. Callen collapsed heavily; the hard concrete floor was unforgiving on his knees and pain seared through him. Patterson laughed callously and brought the butt of the gun down on the side of Callen's head.


	5. Chapter 5

Callen coughed and spluttered as water was poured on his face and flooded into his mouth. He spat out as much as he could and took short, sharp breaths to fill his lungs with air instead of water. As quickly as it had started, the torrent ceased and Callen was left struggling to breathe, his chest heaving.

"Well that woke you up," Patterson said calmly. He stood in front of Callen; buckets of water were on the floor to his right. "You look like a drowned rat," Patterson continued without a shred of concern. "Yet you still have that defiant look in your eyes. I should have known that could never be beaten of you."

Callen concentrated on regulating his breathing, subtly glancing to his left and right to get his bearings. He seemed to be in the same garage as earlier but now he was tied to a chair and without the gag.

"This is not what Janvier wants," Callen rasped in between a fit of coughing.

"Who?" Patterson asked.

"You know damned well who Janvier is," Callen said, the coughing subsiding as he took deep breaths in and out.

"I have no idea what you're talking about. That crack on the head's made you crazy,"

"And drugs have made you even more stupid that you were before," Callen retorted. "Janvier is in the same prison as Skinner. Skinner paid you to get to me and here I am. Trouble is Janvier doesn't want me dead."

"I'm _not_ stupid Callen, but I can see how you became a Fed. Put two and two together and come up with five. Just like planting evidence and grassing up friends. I've never heard of a Janvier."

"But you have heard of Skinner," Callen stated.

Patterson nodded. "Bobby's my step brother. I told him years ago how you betrayed me twice and ruined my life. Eight years you took and I want revenge."

Callen sat staring at Patterson. He wondered how much was true. He had seemed genuine when he denied knowledge of Janvier, but it was clear that he was the one being used. Patterson's pent up desire for revenge was being exploited by Skinner and in Callen's mind there was no doubt that Janvier was the puppet master. He had read both Skinner and Patterson's files and there had been no mention of any familial connection. Callen trawled through his own teenage memories of Patterson and could not recall him mentioning any siblings; only the hatred and shame he had felt at coming from a broken and abusive family.

"Eight years wasn't long enough for selling drugs laced with rat poison and aren't you forgetting what you did to me all those years earlier?" Callen challenged with a hard edge to his voice. "You left me for dead."

Patterson started pacing back and forth. "No it's all lies, it's all you ever do is lie." He shook his head, almost muttering to himself as he continued. "You tricked me into thinking you wanted to join the gang, I had no choice-."

"You're stupid and deluded," Callen interrupted. "We were kids. I came along to talk you out of it..."

"I promised you to them," Patterson stood still and jabbed a finger in Callen's direction. "You had a reputation; the violence, control, your _so-called_ intelligence. And your manipulation of people," Patterson spat out the last sentence. "You used me. I _trusted_ you and you let me down."

"I tried to save you" Callen stated incredulously. "_You_ betrayed me. You left me for dead in some back alley. I was in hospital for a week and I never said anything."

"No, you forced me to attack you," Patterson started pacing again, clenching and unclenching his fists in anger, his eyes blazing.

"You are the one being used by Skinner," Callen tried to reason. "Skinner is being used by Janvier. Janvier wants me alive so he can ruin my life but he will kill every one he uses to get to me. He can't have any connections leading back to him."

"Lies," Patterson shouted. "You're only here because _I_ want revenge."

"What are you going to do then? Kill me?" Callen asked, taking a calculated risk. Patterson seemed unstable and fixated on the past. The one thing he was sure of was that Patterson was not a killer. "You've had plenty of chances and yet here I am, still breathing. You're not a killer, that's why you were told to get me..."

"SHUT UP," Patterson's voice cracked, before suddenly returning to a conversational tone. "I saw you with her you know, that brown haired woman. I saw her and the first thing I thought was that you were lying to her. She deserves so much better. I could give her so much more..."

Callen stared at Patterson. He was being erratic in every way; the brightness of his eyes indicated he had clearly taken something meaning he was unpredictable and dangerous; still not a killer, but he shouldn't be underestimated. Callen wondered how far he could go without giving too much away.

"I was lying to her," Callen admitted, playing to Patterson's low opinion of him. "I lie to get women and I lie to get rid of them."

"I was going to bring her here so I could have some of that fun you've been having with her. You could have watched, seen the real way to treat a lady. But she's disappeared. You drove her away." Patterson turned his head away, disappointment written all over his face.

Callen sighed quietly in relief, thinking that at least he had saved one life from the reaches of Janvier.

"What are you on?" Callen asked suddenly, causing Patterson to spin round. "What did you take?"

"Nothing, nothing," Patterson repeated. He walked away from Callen, scratching his head and muttering again to himself.

"I was wrong earlier, calling you stupid," Callen called after Patterson. "You're just the same pathetic loser you've always been, except now you're unpredictable and violent. And that makes your step brother stupid. Stupid enough to think you were capable of doing Janvier's dirty work. I bet Skinner's already regretting giving you such responsibility. Janvier will soon kill him once he realises what a mistake he's made."

Patterson came to an abrupt halt; he stood still, swaying slightly. His back was to Callen who could see the man was exerting a tremendous amount of self control in an effort to keep his temper; clenching his fists again.

"You're the stupid one," Patterson shouted as he spun round, losing control. "You deliberately let yourself get hurt. Look at you now! You're the one that is violent and unpredictable. You're the stupid one that refused to join the gang and all because you claim to have morals. G Callen, always on the side of good." Patterson laughed quietly and stood over Callen, whispering, "You weren't always that good, were you?"

Without warning, Patterson reached for the full bucket of water which stood in front of Callen and swung it at his head, the force causing Callen and the chair to tip over. Water spilled everywhere and the bucket clattered to the floor, the sound resonating through the empty building.

Callen lay winded on the ground. His right shoulder had taken the brunt of the fall and his whole body screamed in pain. His knees, lungs, chest and shoulder – not to mention the crack he'd just received to the side of the head. He physically could not move. The chair now had broken legs but still Callen was firmly tied to the arms. Blood trickled down the side of his face; the blow to his head almost had him seeing stars.

"You're stupid, stupid to underestimate me," Patterson repeated gently and he bent down to look at Callen. "I have connections, and those connections know people. And do you know what I found out?"

Patterson waited for a response but was met with only laboured breathing as Callen struggled with the pain from his shoulder and head. "No answer for me? Well I found out that betraying people is in your blood."

Callen squeezed his eyes shut, mentally blocking out the pain before opening them again to focus on Patterson.

"Still nothing? Pain dulling your senses? Let me help you then," Patterson pulled a switchblade from his jean's pocket and flicked it open.

Callen watched him in anticipation, wondering whether he was high enough to stab him in a frenzied attack. Patterson anticipated the fear and laughed, circling round until he was behind Callen. He knelt down, pulling Callen's arms roughly away from his back causing the agent to grunt in pain. In one swift action he cut the zip ties from his wrists and then slit through the rope that tied his arms to the chair. Patterson backed away slowly, tapping the flat of the blade into his open palm.

Callen moved slightly away from the chair and lifted himself up with his left arm, alleviating the pressure on his right shoulder. He was pretty sure it was dislocated and he gently pressed it with his fingers and thumb, wincing with the pain. Keeping his eyes on Patterson, he carefully leaned forward and picked at the rope around his ankles with his left hand until they were free. He knew he had to turn the tables soon and take Patterson down before he once again left him for dead. The knife was the only visible weapon but Callen had to remember his own gun may be tucked into the back of Patterson's jeans. If Patterson thought he was more injured than he was, Callen thought, then he would have the element of surprise. The only problem with that plan was that he had a dislocated shoulder. Any form of physical attack would be immensely painful, and it meant that Patterson would have to be fairly close to him first.

"You betrayed our friendship – twice," Patterson said. "I trusted you; let you into the inner circle." Patterson shook his head and waved the knife in Callen's direction. Callen remained still, aware of the broken pieces of chair close to his hands. "I believed you were at rock bottom, that you needed me. For three months you lied, and then you and your DEA pals arrested me. Eight years I got."

"What do you think you'll get now for kidnapping and assaulting a Federal Agent?" Callen smiled at Patterson. His weakness had always been his family; the shame he had felt at the abuse he'd suffered and the lack of protection he'd received. Judging by his earlier reactions to his step brother, family was still a sensitive topic. Callen decided to speed up the process of provoking another attack.

"You are stupid and predictable – and violent. Just like your Dad..." he watched carefully as Patterson's face fell instantly. "Oh yeah," Callen feigned surprised into his voice. "It wasn't your Daddy that was like that, it was your momma. She was violent and your Daddy was too weak to do anything about it. Your so-called brother didn't even care enough to save you. Your _step_ brother isn't even listed as a relative."

Patterson took a pace forward and tapped the knife into his palm; this time the tip pierced his skin and he flinched. Looking at the pin-prick of blood that had formed a neat red bubble, he raised his voice slightly. "You were betrayed from the start. G Callen, not even wanted enough to be given a name. Never wanted or liked enough to be given a family; how many foster homes did you have? No one could stand you."

Callen laughed out loud, despite the pain it cause his damaged ribs. Cheap taunts about his past had long since ceased to have any effect on him.

"Is that the best you've got?" he asked. "Look at which one of us owns a house, has a respectable job and good friends, and I've done it all on my own. What have you got? A criminal record, a drug habit and you're homeless. Looks like you've inherited your stupidity from your daddy and your violence from your mommy. Your _step-_brother – well, he's just signed your death warrant."

"And who do you inherit your violence from, G Callen," Patterson asked threateningly. "I heard stories about you _before_ we shared that half way house. How many foster families were you removed from for violence? You put one foster dad in hospital for a week. You know the rumours that went round about what happened there..."

Patterson stopped. G Callen had become a bit of a legend among some of the foster kids. He already had a reputation as a loner who would react violently if he or another child were threatened. He was a shrewd manipulator of people and situations and Patterson was convinced these skills had been honed in his adult life. He knew most foster kids had their secrets and he was sure Callen would not want to be reminded of the rumours from the night that had 'cemented' his reputation within the system.

"How many times were you arrested for assault? You were violent, uncontrollable, a liar, a runaway – I wonder what else you got up to on the streets?" Patterson took another few paces forward. "And how the hell did you manage to get into the DEA and be a Fed with a criminal record?"

Callen met Patterson's stare. Sticks and stones, he thought, he could handle that. But the jogging of other memories that he had long since buried...Callen fought to suppress his emotions. For him to stand any chance of beating Patterson he had to remain focused and in control, no matter what Patterson threw at him.

"Maybe I carried on lying," Callen answered with a sly smile. "Maybe my abilities mean I'm perfect for my job, maybe my records were all destroyed. Maybe I just lied about being arrested."

"Or maybe," Patterson walked forward again. "Or maybe you were deliberately orphaned and unwanted. Maybe you're really – let's say – a sleeper agent that's been groomed in more ways than one, and you haven't quite yet been activated. After all, I heard a rumour that your daddy was KGB and your mommy was a traitorous gypsy spy and you know most rumours turn out to be true."

How the hell did Janvier find that out, Callen thought, stunned at Patterson's acute knowledge into his recently discovered past. He pictured the small number of files and documents he had been passed about his parents, and recalled the Keelson case from five years earlier. He wondered whether he and Janvier had been connected in some way or whether they merely shared the same source. Patterson was infuriating. Every time Callen thought he was on top, Patterson upped his game. Surely this was proof that Patterson, Skinner and Janvier were intrinsically linked.

"I'm an American and a Federal Agent," Callen replied strongly. "I would never betray my country."

"Now you're sounding stupid. Everyone has a price but with you...no one would be surprised if you gradually turned traitor. Your parents betrayed their countries and then betrayed you. If I'm like my parents, well you just need to take a looky in the mirror."

Callen quickly digested Patterson's words. Could this be the next game of Janvier's, he thought bitterly, to turn his own slow search in to his parentage on its head, leaving Callen exposed, open to manipulation? Or would Janvier arrange for evidence to be planted, pointing towards a desperate agent who already had connections to Russia and the KGB?

"Y'know I did make a mistake earlier," Callen said, watching carefully as Patterson moved closer to him. "You're not stupid, you're mad. You're a small, expendable piece of scum that Janvier will soon dispose of. You might as well kill me as you'll soon be dead anyway."

"I'm not going to die," Patterson shouted. "I should kill you..." Patterson turned his head away, muttering, "I should have killed you years ago..."

"You can't do it," Callen laughed again in derision. "You couldn't kill me then and you can't do it now. You just haven't got it in you, not like you mom or your _step-_brother. Maybe you were adopted..."

"I can kill you, I will kill you!" Patterson took the final pace forward. He was now within arm's reach of Callen.

"You won't kill me, you can't or Janvier will kill your _step-_brother," Callen continued to emphasise the word 'step', winding Patterson up each time he said it. "You can beat someone pretty bad but you've never taken a life. You're a coward, Clint Patterson, just like your daddy."

"I'm the one with the knife," Patterson shouted he allowed Callen's words to fuel his anger. "I'm the one still standing. You're in a heap on the floor with a broken shoulder and a cracked skull."

Once again Patterson had started shaking with rage. He took a final pace forward and viciously kicked his right leg towards Callen's chest. Anticipating the move Callen grabbed a piece of broken chair and swiped it with all his strength against Patterson's other leg, causing him to collapse on the ground. Callen held his breath to steady the pain in his right shoulder as he lunged to his left, grabbing the knife which had fallen from Patterson's hand. Patterson scrambled to his knees and reached for the back of his waistband, pulling out Callen's gun. Before he could take aim, Callen leapt to his feet and stabbed him in the chest. Patterson dropped the gun and instinctively reached towards the knife handle just as Callen twisted the blade out. Patterson fell to the ground in agony as Callen took a second to block out the pain from his shoulder. He reached out to grab Patterson by the hair, intending to twist him round and slit his throat when he felt the barrel of his own gun jab against his abdomen.

"I said you were dangerous...murderer," Patterson gasped. He held Callen's gun with a hand that was covered in blood. Colour was rapidly draining from his face and his clothes were already saturated bright red. The gun wavered slightly. "If I die, you're coming with me..."

Within a split second, Callen instinctively knocked the gun away with his right hand, screaming at the pain it caused. The sound of a gunshot reverberated throughout the empty warehouse, and both Callen and Patterson collapsed on the floor.


	6. Chapter 6

Blood poured from a fresh wound on Patterson's body and bubbled up from his lungs, seeping out of his mouth. He looked at Callen, his eyes wide in fear, opening and closing his mouth in a vain attempt to speak. Callen lay on the floor next to the dying man and held his gaze, watching impassively as the last of Patterson's life ebbed away.

"G, G!" Sam's voice and two sets of footsteps echoed through the empty garage, growing louder as they approached him.

"Callen?" Deeks' panicked voice now cut through the silence.

Sam reached the spot where Callen was lying. He knelt down, immediately noticing how pale he looked and instantly feared the worst. "G," he whispered, cradling Callen's head in his hands. "You can't do this to me again."

Deeks stood over them, talking quickly and quietly into his cell, asking Eric to send in one ambulance and the coroner's van. He silently prayed it was only one body for the coroner; he had joked that their tight knit team was indestructible, but events of the past year began to cast a serious doubt on their superhero status.

Sam moved one hand and roughly shook Callen, willing him to speak. His eyes were open, the pupils large and dark. He was blinking, shutting his eyes for longer than he should before opening them again. Sam quickly looked down his body for any pools of blood where a bullet may have entered him.

"G?" Sam raised his voice; he knew Callen could hear him. He again shook him, this time eliciting the response he required.

"Stop," Callen gasped as he weakly tried to push Sam's hand away from his body.

"What?" Sam asked. "Where are you hurt?"

He could see Callen had acquired yet another head wound and his wrists were cut raw from the tightness of the zip ties but no other injuries were visible.

"My...shoulder," Callen groaned.

Sam moved away quickly, instantly realising he'd been pressing against Callen's shoulder which looked dislocated.

"Are you hurt anywhere else?" Deeks asked. Just like Sam he had been scanning Callen's body for any visible signs of injury; blood from a gunshot or a knife wound. Both weapons were lying close by, discarded when Sam's shot had penetrated Patterson's side and caused both men to collapse.

"No," Callen wheezed. "Help me up."

Sam moved to Callen's uninjured left side and gently lifted him in to a standing position. He left his arm around Callen's waist, steadying his partner.

"You sure you don't want to lie down and wait from the ambulance?" Deeks asked, convinced that Callen would fall as soon as Sam released him.

"Sam - shoulder," Callen held Sam's stare, his eyes widening slightly as he mentally convinced himself this was the best treatment.

Sam nodded in understanding. "Deeks, hold Callen, I'm gonna pop his shoulder back in the socket."

Deeks supported Callen as Sam moved in front of him. He reached his right hand out, hovering over Callen's right shoulder.

"On the count of three, right G?"

Callen remained silent and nodded in agreement. Deeks tensed himself for whatever the fallout may be.

"One..."

Callen yelled loudly, and swore in a language neither Sam nor Deeks understood. Sam had pushed Callen's shoulder back into place before counting any further. Callen twisted away in pain and would have ended on the floor again if Deeks' grip had not been so tight.

"What the hell?" Callen panted, struggling to control his breathing after the shock of Sam's inability to count. "Did they not teach you how to count in SEAL school?"

"Deeks, help him sit down against that wall," Sam ignored Callen's complaints with a smile on his face. If his onerous partner was already whining then he knew the injuries weren't too bad.

With a little assistance, Callen gradually sat himself down, grimacing with pain as he bent his bruised knees. "I thought you'd never get here, what kept you?"

"Well you like sorting out your own problems so I thought we'd wait at the back of the lot until the last minute," Sam replied. "And then as usual, I'd dive in and save your sorry ass."

"Your timing as usual was impeccable, however about ten minutes earlier would have saved this injury," Callen said, his breathing now steadier and stronger as the shock and pain began to ease a little.

"How about next time, you don't even think about going off on your own, then I won't need to save you and hear you whine about how my timing was off. My timing was perfect, unless you wanted another bullet wound added to the five you already have."

"Five?" Deeks asked in amazement. "Wow that is awesome. How do you explain that to the girls?"

Callen shot Deeks a wry smile and kept silent. He'd not exactly had many women to explain his scars to and he certainly had no desire to recall his recent conversations on the subject.

"So how long were you waiting before you decided to shoot Patterson?" Callen wondered how much his team had overheard.

"Not long," Sam replied.

"Long enough to see you fighting like a jungle wild cat," Deeks added. "Looks like you've been studying my moves."

"Really Deeks?" Sam asked. "I've never seen you about to slit someone's throat with a pocket knife and with a dislocated shoulder."

Deeks merely looked at Sam, a broad smile across his face. He was just grateful they were all safe. The more insults flying around, the safer they all felt.

"So how did you find me?" Callen asked as the sirens from the ambulance grew louder, stopping abruptly when they arrived at the front of the warehouse.

"Later...Over here," Sam ignored Callen and beckoned to the medics, who grabbed their equipment and jogged to where the agents were congregated by the rear wall.

The first one paused as he approached the prone body of Patterson. He glanced at the three men and then knelt beside the body, placing his fingers across the neck to find any trace of a pulse.

"He's dead," Sam said and pointed towards Callen. "He needs attention."

"I'm fine, just a little sore," Callen replied, hoping the medics would give him a cursory glance and agree.

"He's not; head wound, chest wound, dislocated right shoulder I've popped back in to the socket, maybe concussion." Sam's succinct diagnosis had Callen shake his head in disgust.

"_He_ has a name," Callen answered, trying to fob off the medic who was tentatively feeling his shoulder. The other one grabbed a pen light, shining it into Callen's eyes.

"Shoulder feels ok but I'd like x-rays to double check. Did you lose consciousness?"

"No, yes," Callen lifted his left hand to where the butt of his gun had knocked him out. A small bump had formed but there was no tackiness.

The medic gently prodded both head wounds, cleaning the more recent one. "Confusion is a sign of concussion," he said. "Do you feel sick, dizzy, blurred vision?"

"No no and no," Callen replied, mentally kicking himself for not having given a consistent answer.

"Let's look at your ribs," the second medic asked, whilst the first made notes about their patient's condition.

Callen carefully lifted his shirt, causing Sam to wince at the bruising around his side.

"Hmm, some of this is at least a day old, breath in for me,"

Callen did has he was instructed, wincing slightly at the pain it caused.

"Bad bruising, I don't think anything is broken. But I'd avoid getting punched or kicked in the ribs for a while."

"Funny," Callen glanced at Sam. "You hear that partner?"

"I'd like you to come to ER so we can x-ray your shoulder and chest. You don't have any obvious signs of concussion but you need to rest up for a few days." The medic saw the undisguised look of horror on Callen's face and quickly added. "There won't be any need to keep you in overnight."

"I'm fine," Callen insisted, watching the medic fetch a sling from his case.

"You need x-rays, physiotherapy, your arm will need to be in a sling for a few weeks and there's a three to four month recovery time," the medic said firmly. "Without this, you may not recover full usage of your right shoulder. I assume you're right handed?"

Callen glanced at the faces staring at him and understood that resistance was futile. "Yes I'm right-handed and yes, I'm refusing further medical treatment, but I will go to the ER tomorrow – promise."

"I'll make sure he goes," Sam reassured the medics. "He won't be cleared for any field work until he gets proper treatment..."

The medics reluctantly agreed and passed Callen the relevant paperwork to confirm he'd refused further attention.

* * *

The team of three walked upstairs and in to the operations centre; Callen hobbling slightly from bruised knees and his arm was in a sling – the one point on which Sam would not allow him to negotiate. They were greeted by Hetty, Eric and Nell, who pulled out a chair so Callen could sit as they wrapped up the case.

"Mr Callen," Hetty started. "I would say what a surprise to see you back here so soon, and that hospital waiting times for x-rays must have dramatically improved..." Callen held Hetty's stare in a silent look of defiance. "However that would be a lie," Hetty continued. "You will be going to hospital tomorrow, even if Sam has to drag you there in handcuffs."

"Hetty, that is exactly what I promised," Callen said with a straight face. "I just wanted to come back here and help you with all the loose ends."

"Ah yes, indeed there are plenty of those. It seems you made a number of connections you did not feel fit to share with your team." Hetty continued to stare at Callen in disapproval. The senior agent visibly squirmed and remained silent, figuring it would be better for his already fragile health.

"Firstly," Nell interjected quickly. "We have some bad news. We received word six hours ago that Bobby Skinner was stabbed to death in prison. No witnesses, no murder weapon and Janvier was locked in his cell when this occurred. Investigations are ongoing as we speak."

Callen felt his heart sink. There were no easy answers and already Janvier was clearing up, ensuring no link could connect him to the events which had just occurred in Los Angeles.

"On the plus side," Eric picked up from Nell. "When you disappeared on Sam, he called in and said you'd worked on the case overnight. So I trawled back through your search history and found you'd looked in to a Clint Patterson. He'd been at the bottom of the list with no link to Skinner that we could find, so apart from the fact he lived in LA, there'd been no obvious reason to pursue him further."

"But when we found you'd been looking into him," Nell continued seamlessly. "We changed the search parameters. Instead of finding links between Janvier, Skinner and Patterson, we started looking into Patterson's history to find a connection to you. We found you're both the same age and most importantly were both in the social welfare system in LA at the same time. I found Patterson's social services file, recording his last placement at eighteen at a half way house with four other teenagers – one of whose name was redacted. Hetty managed to access your restricted records and found your name."

"The only other piece of information in Patterson's file is circumstantial," Eric said, hesitating before adding. "The same night he disappeared from the house, you were rushed to hospital after being found unconscious in Compton."

With all eyes focused on him for an explanation Callen reluctantly gave in, opting for the brief version. "Patterson wanted to join a gang, tricked me into going with him. I refused, tried to persuade him not to join. That showed him up and I became his gang initiation."

"So why didn't you report him?" Nell asked innocently. She was met with a piercing stare from Callen and she instinctively moved back slightly in her chair. "Er..." Nell continued hesitantly. "Um, ok, we followed Patterson's career progression through to when he was arrested after an undercover DEA operation. Again the agent's identity has been redacted-"

"And five points for guessing the un-redacted agent's name - none other than our very own G Callen," Deeks cocked his head slightly and grinned when he caught the dirty look Sam threw him.

Callen again knew the rest of the team expected and deserved an explanation. "His name cropped up as part of a local drug ring who was supplying high school kids with ecstasy laced with rat poison. We also traced batches of cocaine laced with rat poison back to his gang. When I said I knew him from foster care it was agreed I should go in as myself and infiltrate his team."

"And how did you convince him?" Sam asked, intrigued to know what tactics Callen had employed.

"Told him I'd been kicked out of the DEA for fraudulently filling in my application form, insubordination and suspected theft," Callen replied seriously.

"And Patterson readily believed that from remembering you as kid? Insubordination I can understand, but the rest? Is this a rare insight in to G Callen's years growing up in the system?" Sam smiled widely as he caught Callen's eye. His comment was not appreciated by his younger partner, which only made him broaden his smile.

"Well," Nell said. "The mysterious link between Callen and Patterson was solved, but we were still missing a solid connection between Patterson and Skinner."

"Apparently they were step brothers," Callen said. "He'd never mentioned him before, ever, and there was nothing in either his or Skinner's files."

"That's right, Mr Callen," Hetty said. "It appears that at various points in his parents relationship was several break ups, new marriages, further break ups and re-unions. Skinner was the son of one of the new marriages..."

"Families," Deeks said staring at the large interactive screen which now showed the messy familial connections of Clint Patterson.

"Indeed Mr Deeks, indeed," Hetty agreed. "Eric and Nell managed to run a trace on the known locations of Patterson and tracked him to the warehouse where you found Mr Callen. Unfortunately, with both Skinner and Patterson dead, there are no paths that lead back to Janvier's door."

"And that means the threat is still out there," Callen said. "What about the girl who Tasered me?"

"Well we have scoured every single piece of information and tenuous links from Patterson. We did establish that he had access to a motorbike and was most likely the one who delivered the book to Joelle," Nell said.

"LAPD picked up some girl trying to sell your NCIS ID and she was also in possession of a Taser." Eric said. "LAPD are releasing her into our custody and she'll be in the boatshed for interview in about an hour, but the early indication is she was just hired to hit you with the Taser."

"What about Callen's shooter from Joelle's house?" Deeks asked.

"Nothing, no leads at all,"

"So someone could still be out there?" Callen was not happy that there was a lose end which could still put lives at risk.

"All the while Janvier is alive, Mr Callen, it is possible the threat will never go away." Hetty spoke the words Callen had no desire to hear.

Callen rested his head in his left hand and silently swore that he should have granted Janvier's wish of death by cop. Hell, he should have shot him properly in the first place.

"Mr Deeks, Mr Hanna," Hetty interrupted his thoughts. "To the boatshed if you may. Mr Callen follow me to my office."

With the team effectively dismissed from the ops centre, Callen slowly followed Hetty down to her office. When he arrived he was surprised to see a bottle of whiskey and two half filled glasses on her desk.

"Hetty?" He gently eased himself in to the chair in front of her and took the glass she offered him.

"Oh I'm sure Mr Callen that you have not taken any of your prescribed painkillers, so let this be your medicine, at least for tonight," Hetty peered at her favourite agent through her thick spectacles. She was considering calling Nate back in the hope that he could penetrate Callen's steel walled defences. He was clearly affected physically but it was always his mental state of mind that worried Hetty. The pretence that he wasn't affected when confronted with memories from his past, his close encounters with death, and the fact that he persisted in distancing himself from his close friends – his family.

Callen took a sip of the smooth, expensive tasting whiskey and tried to get comfortable. "This is good," he nodded his appreciation, waiting for Hetty to reveal what was on her mind and to impart her words of wisdom.

"Good," Hetty leaned back in her chair. "I'm worried about you Mr Callen. You've been through so much over these past few days."

"I'll be fine Hetty but might need a few months for my shoulder to heal properly,"

"That is not what I meant," Hetty pursed her lips together in frustration. "Janvier has once again proven to be your nemesis _and_ your Achilles Heel. He has not only reached you, but he has once more threatened those you care about. And your reaction? To push everyone away and tackle the problem on your own."

Callen cast his head downwards like a chastised school boy. He tapped the tips of his fingers together as he tried to find the words to explain his actions. Failing miserably he looked at Hetty, taking another sip of whiskey.

Hetty waited patiently but it was clear that no response would be forthcoming. "Have you still not learnt to trust your team and the people around you? Do you not think that one day you will push them so far away that they may never return? Do you believe you can live the rest of your life on your own?"

"I just don't want people to be hurt because of me," Callen simply admitted.

"_People_ can usually take care of themselves, if you give them the opportunity," Hetty countered. "Sam and Deeks have passed Janvier's tests and neither harbours any ill feeling toward you."

"Well not everyone is as well equipped as they are," Callen knew where the conversation was headed and he wished he could make a speedy exit.

"Ah, you must be referring to your lady friend, Joelle," Hetty had quickly manipulated the conversation to the one area she knew Callen would struggle to open up about.

"It wasn't working out," Callen worked his jaw, rubbing his fingers and thumb together as he lied.

"So the war may still be waging, but Janvier has won this battle," Hetty remained still as she pressed her point.

Callen shuffled slightly as Hetty's words hit home. "I can't take the risk Hetty."

"Surely you of all people know that life is what you make it? You can't allow your hopes and dreams to be limited by circumstance, by Janvier. I have witnessed your journey over the years, and now you are finally finding answers you have found room in your heart for another."

"I wouldn't go that far," Callen said cautiously. "This has made me realise I still have a way to go – I need answers about my past so I can look to the future. There is information on me out there; Keelson found it and I think Janvier has too. Patterson knew about my past, I guess from Skinner via Janvier. He also said something that made me wonder if Janvier's next move will be to cast doubt on my background, on my family and loyalty. I need answers Hetty, and I'm closer now than I've ever been. So close. But I can't move forward until I understand the past."

Hetty watched Callen deflect the question of his own personal happiness with his desire to search for answers. "Very well, if Miss Jones and Mr Beale can be of service then please feel free to use them as a resource – but outside of work hours."

"Thank you," Callen said, grateful that Hetty had not pursued the topic of his love life. It was a regret, but maybe in another time and another place, he might be lucky enough to pick up where he left off with Joelle.

"Now," Hetty re-arranged her glasses on her nose. "I will instruct Mr Hanna to take you to hospital tomorrow for your x-rays. He will be with you at 10am, so please do not keep him waiting."

"There's no need Hetty, I can get myself there," Callen said.

"I fear you may get lost en route. Now since you saw fit to abandon your partner, I strongly recommend you allow Sam to escort you to the hospital tomorrow or I shall have to stand you down for disobeying orders."

"Ok, ok," Callen relented, attempting to hold both hands up in defeat and grunting with the pain. "You can tell Sam I'll be the model patient and that no handcuffs will be required."

Hetty nodded her head in acceptance and reached forward to pour them both another glass of whiskey. A small smile crept across Callen's face. Even with x-rays, painkillers and physiotherapy, Hetty would not clear him for field work for several months yet; however she had just given him a free pass to discover more about his parents.

"In the words of George Bernard Shaw," Hetty pushed Callen's glass towards him. "'Whiskey is liquid sunshine'. And Mr Callen, Lord knows you need some sunshine to chase away the black dog that is stalking you. May I suggest you have another dram before I drive you home? We don't want you falling down and breaking your other shoulder."

* * *

**A/N** - Thank you all for reading, following, favouriting and reviewing this story. I try to thank people via messages & twitter, but to Skippy1967 (who I can't thank in either of these ways) - thanks for your consistently great reviews. I would say it's been fun, but with the exception of the first and last chapter - it's been agony to write! But your reviews have clearly shown that the agony was worth it. Maybe one day there will be a sequel to this story, seems like it's begging for one...


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